Chapter Four
"Did you add getting married to the list when you decided to go against your father?" Ellie asked, brushing more makeup onto Amy's cheeks as they stared at the mirror.
It had all happened quickly. Just last week, she’d called a stranger to pose as her fiancé, now she was sitting at a vanity in a riverside hotel room, preparing to take her vows with that same striking man.
All she wanted was to piss her father off with a fake engagement. A wedding was never part of the plan. But instead of outrage, her father had lit up with joy, accepting the union on the spot and even agreeing to the date her so-called mystery man chose.
"This was the easiest way to finally break free from Dad," Amy said, meeting Ellie’s eyes in the mirror. "You brought the papers, right? I’m divorcing and paying him off tonight. Flight to LA’s already booked."
Ellie smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She was happy Amy was taking control of her life — God knows she needed it — but still... something didn’t sit right.
Amy was only twenty-three, a defiant spirit raised in luxury, now set to dive headfirst into a world she’d never touched before, alone.
She's worried.
“Did he know about this decision?” Ellie asked softly, adding one last touch of highlighter to her cheekbones.
“Who?” Amy asked, confused.
“Him, of course. Mikhail.”
Amy scoffed. “You and I both know that man’s no Mikhail Volkov. He was just smart enough to play along with my father’s assumption. I don’t owe him any explanation. I’ll hand him the divorce papers, pay him, and be on my way. He’s probably waiting for it.”
Ellie nodded slowly, but the unease tightened in her chest. This wasn't going to be as simple as Amy had made it looked like.
Mikhail, or whoever he really was, had sent a man named Daniel to her the morning after Amy hired him. He had calmly asked her to say nothing about his true identity. At the time, she hadn’t understood the gravity. But two days ago, Jaye, the agency contact who arranged the fake groom, had called in a panic, apologizing for sending the wrong number.
Amy wasn’t marrying an actor. Ellie knew that now.
But she couldn’t say it. Not without crossing lines she wasn’t supposed to. All she could do was nudge Amy gently. Daniel warning might have been so simple, but she felt the chills of it in her soul. Was that man really Mikhail?
“I mean… he paid for the wedding, Amy. You didn’t give him anything, right?”
Amy stood up, smoothing the front of her dress. “Nope. But we talked yesterday. I told him to give me an estimate for everything he spent. I’ll refund him.”
“You’re not curious about how he got the money in the first place?” Ellie asked carefully. She didn’t want her friend entangled in a mess, especially since she knew the man Amy thought was playing along wasn’t Jerome. The supposed actor.
“Not worried. He could’ve taken a loan,” Amy shrugged, wondering what had gotten into her friend.
Ellie bit back her concern. “A loan big enough to rent a yacht?” she said instead, arching a brow.
That man didn’t rent the yacht, he owned it. She could tell. He reeked of wealth.
“You sent me his contact, remember? You should know him better than I do. You said he was a busy guy, an actor like him’s obviously loaded. Makes perfect sense my dad believed he was Mikhail Volkov.”
Amy shrugged. “Why are you sounding so paranoid?”
Ellie said nothing. Amy chuckled. She was enjoying this rebellion and didn’t understand why her best friend was so indifferent to it.
Ellie didn’t correct her. She couldn’t.
“Amy…”
The door creaked open, cutting her off. Amy’s mother entered the room, eyes soft.
“It’s time, darling.”
---
The ceremony passed in a blur.
Now, Amy sat in the backseat of a black SUV beside her fake husband, her fingers twisting in her lap. The car glided smoothly toward the luxury hotel she had booked for their wedding night, two separate rooms, of course.
Mikhail sat silently beside her, unmoving, unreadable.
She had no idea that he wasn't planning to go anywhere.
She believed whatever arrangement they had would end as soon as they were out of sight of the wedding guests. He had long overstayed his welcome in Chicago. He was supposed to have left that same night he saved her from being sold off.
He had gone out of curiosity—but the moment he kissed her, something shifted.
He wanted her.
Mikhail had never had a reason to lay claim to any woman. But he wanted to possess her. He wanted her all to himself. He wanted her to never leave his sight.
Mikhail Volkov wasn't known to chase women. He conquered so easily.
But he wanted this woman, not just for a night, or a game, but entirely.
They hadn’t spoken much since that night, and every conversation had been initiated by her, mostly about money.
She kept referring to their arrangement like a transaction, and it amused him how she still believed he was just playing along. Even after her father addressed him by name.
She’d asked for his real name, and he’d said, “Mikhail.” She didn’t believe him, but she didn’t question it either, convinced he was staying in character.
She still had no idea.
Silver had kept the press out of the ceremony, just like he had instructed him to.
“You’ve been very helpful… uh, Mikhail,” Amy began, clearing her throat after telling the driver their destination.
He said nothing, only watched her fidget, clearly unsure of what to say next. She bites her lip, a gesture that nearly broke his resolve. He clenched his fist, suppressing the groan forming in his throat.
“You still haven’t told me how much you spent,” she said, her voice low.
He tilted his head slightly. He needed a distraction from her, or he would pin her right there, in the car. If she badly wanted to know, fine.
“Twenty million.”
Amy’s eyes widened before she burst into laughter. “You’re funny.”
He smirked. “Two million.” he replied, knowing she’d panic if he didn’t adjust it.
She gasped lightly. “Ohh.”
“You can breathe now, little woman.”
There it was again, little woman. Why did he keep calling her that?
Before she could ask, the driver pulled to a stop. They had arrived.
Amy stepped out, heading briskly into the hotel with Mikhail at her heels. She had made separate room reservations, and she was determined to end this as quickly and cleanly as possible.
Mikhail followed gently, hands buried in his pockets, curious about what her next move would be, and what her reaction would be when he finally told her he wasn’t playing around.
He would give her freedom, let her do whatever she pleased, but she would remain his wife.
But Amy had other plans.
The elevator dinged. They walked side-by-side until they reached their floor. She stopped at her door.
“We need to talk.”
He glanced at her, already holding his keycard. “Aren’t you tired?”
“You still haven’t told me how you want your payment. Cash or wired?”
His lips curved at the corners. So eager to be done with him.
“Whatever you choose.”
Her brows furrowed. “Your fee? I mean, aside from the two million. What’s your price?”
He leaned slightly towards his door, voice lower now. “Double what you paid the first time.”
Amy blinked. “Seriously? Ohh.”
He scoffed lightly.
“Goodnight, little woman,” he said, then slipped into his room and closed the door.
She stared at the door for several seconds, arms crossed, expression unreadable. After a moment, she whispered under her breath, almost sadly.
“Goodbye, husband.”
